Dark Ages: Paths of Ash and Blood
by Axiom187
Summary: [VTM - Dark Ages] The 14th century is a time filled with turbulence and opportunity. No one clan will swing the balance of power set in Europe, but as society shifts, so will the children of the night. New alliances must be formed. Based on the pen and paper.


**Disclaimer: Vampire The Masquerade, its Dark Age material and all associated lore are properties of White Wolf Publishing (and now Paradox Interactive, I guess). I own none of this.**

 **Via Cinere. Via Sanguine.**

 **Chapter I**

Kurt Bauer was a religious man. To be something other than a religious man in Ballenstedt was to invite the scorn of his family, friends and neighbors. But his religious belief was different to that of his wife, his two sons or even his older brother. Like them, he prayed several times a day, paid his tithe to his Lord and Church and communed with his kin during Mass. Kurt Bauer was a religious man. Yet he could not consider himself a man of faith.

There is a difference.

Faith is anticipation. Faith is the strong, stalwart belief in God's truth and power, and the eagerness to dwell in His arms. Faith is gazing into the empty, unknown of the sky and smiling at the thought of God's compassionate eyes.

Kurt raised his eyes to the night sky, and could see nothing but darkness. He stood atop the only tower in the city's walls, raised above the southernmost gate. There was talk of investment, a partnership between the city's Lord and Priest, in order to build a similar tower somewhere else along the stone barrier, but for the moment nothing was certain. Some would say he was close to God, atop the thirty feet tall stone cylinder, yet the middle aged militia man did not believe God paid attention to the small German town. Kurt was a man of paradoxes. His belief in God was a born not out of anticipation and hope, but of desperation. A man of faith hopes. A religious man fears. During the day he prayed, worked his fields and tended to his family. At night he did the devil's work.

"Evening, friend..." a raspy, croaked voice broke the night's silence. Kurt turned towards the sound and raised his Italian crossbow. He frowned as the same landscape he'd seen a thousand times before appeared before him, unchanged. The town's main street, the only one laden with uneven blocks of stone, curved eastwards until it reached the Lord's keep. Many dirt tracks, beaten paths where hundreds of carts and men treaded on every day, marked the commoner's streets. Here one could find from the most meager of brick shacks where servants and farmers lived to wooden and stone manors where craftsmen and resided and plied their trades. That late into the night, naught but a few lights dotted the city's shadows. No one stood before him. The man cursed.

"No need for that weapon..." Kurt tensed as he heard the voice yet again, spinning on his heels and bringing about his crossbow. He pressed the weapon's trigger, and watched as the metal bolt flew over the stone guard of the tower and plunged into the fields outside the town. Again, no one stood before him.

"Let's try that again..."

His crossbow was flung from his grasp and some invisible force hit him square in the chest with the strength of an ox. His back hit the stone parapet and the militiaman cursed aloud when he felt within his chest the cracking of two of his ribs. His mouth filled with blood and his eyes blurred back into focus. Before him crouched the most hideous creature he had ever lain eyes upon. The creature had a pasty grey skin, elongated arms and claw-like fingers. Its face was sunken and filled with creases and boils, and a maggot slowly crawled up the creature's long forehead. Its nose and earlobes were gone, and the creature's dried-up lips fully exposed a long line of sharp teeth in a perpetually forced smile.

"You've been a part of your Lord's night watch for the past six months... It's not a question." the creature's mouth parted slightly and its long tongue licked its canine teeth "This one is, tough, and mind the fact that you yelling would result in the very painful end of your wife and children... The Lord is in his mansion tonight..."

Kurt nodded.

"And his family is there as well..."

The same reply.

"Are his senior councilmen in the mansion?" Kurt shook his head "Is the Lord's _true_ councilor with him?"

Kurt hesitated. He gazed at the creature's smile, the long teeth slightly wet with what Kurt hoped was not blood. He found that the creature's fixed smile unnerved him immensely. He imagined it was exactly the expected reaction.

"If you mean Lord Ophys... Then yes, he is present. But he is merely a foreign ambassador, an envoy of..."

"Yeah, yeah..." The creature interrupted "And I was created in God's image... We both know you're lying so let's move on, shall we?" _It_ grunted, if one could call that grunting "How many guards in the manor?"

"Four by the main door, five more inside... Two by the stairs to the Lord's private chambers, two in the Courtroom and one patrolling the halls."

The beast narrowed its sunken eyes "You said _main_ door..."

Kurt breathed out a curse "There's a tunnel that leads to outside the city walls... It's entrance is hidden behind a bookshelf in the manor's library."

"Where does it lead?"

"The riverbank, near the bridge...There's a half-broken shed covered in soot..." Kurt sighed and leaned his head back. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Depends..." it said, raising its decrepit eyebrows "Have you tasted his blood?"

"No!" He almost shouted but managed to control himself "I may follow the devil's orders, but I'd never welcome it in my heart."

The beast snorted "Strange, these barriers you raise for yourselves... I'll follow the devil's every order, but drink its blood? That's where I draw the line..." It rose from its crouch "Stay here and do nothing for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow the power in the city will have shifted. If you live to see it, or even benefit from it will depend on how quiet you are throughout the night."

* * *

The creature walked towards the ladder and with one drop was within the tower. A guard laid dead against a desk, blood soaking the ledger he had been working on only moments ago. The Nosferatu slid a finger across the guard's open throat and licked it clean. The Kindred raised his eyes and spoke in clear Latin "Did you get it all?"

"Yes..." A dark figure in the corner, its voice as lithe as its frame, replied with unease "Where do I go?"

"The shed... Shouldn't need you to interfere, but can't be too careful..."

The thin woman hissed, her shoulder-length raven hair swayed as she shook her head. "I'll be out of the fight..."

"In the best-case scenario, yes... But really, kid... How often do we get best-case scenarios?"

She grunted and approached a small window on the far side of the tower. It was a narrow passage, and of the small coterie executing tonight's plan, if anyone was capable of squeezing through it, it was the lithe Gangrel. "Tell my horselord I am not pleased..."

"It's called a sire, kid..." The Nosferatu started, but the woman was already out the window. He shook his head "Frigging Mongols..."

The creature went back to the guard's neck, knowing full well that before the night was over he'd need blood to fuel his clan's disciplines. He didn't mind.

* * *

" _Ignosce mihi, pater, quia peccavi..."_

Father Lucas awoke with a muffled cry. A large gloved hand held his mouth shut, and before he even thought to fight his night visitor he knew he stood no chance. Bright, blue eyes gazed down at him. Incredibly bright blue eyes. _Supernaturally_ bright blue eyes. Another of the children of Satan had arrived to pay him a visit. A lesser man would have begun praying, but as a member of the clergy he knew better.

"You speak German?" He asked with a heavily accented form of the local language. The priest nodded "I will remove my hand, and we will talk... You will not shout, you will not attempt to fight me. You know what I am. You cannot kill me..."

The priest nodded, cursing slightly as the visitor removed his hand and straightened his posture, making his full height visible to the old cleric "The man of faith is never helpless against the spawn of Satanas..."

"No man of faith stands before me..." He said, an icy tone touching his voice "Your prince will die tonight, priest..."

The priest stopped adjusting himself and looked up at the stranger. The man, clearly of Nordic blood, stood well above six feet tall. His black hair fell almost to cover his eyes, long for current courtly fashion, yet short when one considers the savages of his birthplace. His pale, almost completely white skin and bright unnatural eyes gave away his infernal nature. A dark blue, almost black, tunic covered most of his armor, a chainmail coat that reached his knees. Sturdy leather boots and gloves completed the outfit, the look of a man about to fight a battle. The man was serious. The prince was to die.

"Which prince?" The priest asked.

The knight raised one of his eyebrows and a knowing smile settled on his lips "Both..."

"Do what you will to the demon..." The priest pleaded, with obviously fake spirit "But not good Hermann Wallenstein, the Lord has suffered so much due to his weakling son..."

"I am not asking your permission, priest..." The tall knight turned and walked towards the only window of the small stone room. The moonlight illuminated his visage. Hung across his back the priest could see a metal shield, painted with a heraldic symbol of crossed axes beneath a white bear over a light-blue field. "The courts have decided, your princes will die... I am here only to inform you that you will assist us during the transition of power..."

He held his woolen sheets closer to his chest "I am?"

"Yes... Tomorrow the village will awake to a tragic scene... Bandits will have struck the town under the cover of night, killing most of the militiamen, murdering the Lord and his councilman and leaving the scene with the manor's treasury..."

The priest coughed "All of it?"

The young knight sighed and shook his head "In two days the new prince will arrive with his escort... A distant relative or so his papers will say. He will be carrying a sizable donation of his own coffers to replenish the town's treasury, and another donation to the church, in order to garner God's favor after such a horrible tragedy. Our prince will be on his retinue... You will deliver the news to the local populace. The stability of the town will be your job for the next two days. Make no mistake, though, we'll be watching..."

"I... see..." the priest felt no more fear, apart from being in the presence of a child of Satan, that is. This arrangement suited him just fine. He'd sworn no fealty to the mortal authority of the land's liege. If this switch of princes benefited him, he'd embrace the opportunity. The knight turned to leave, but the priest interjected "Is he not one of you?"

The Norseman stopped "One could say that..."

"Then, why remove him?"

"For some of the damned..." he continued walking "Some things are _too abhorrent_..."

* * *

The four guardsmen saw nothing. They saw nothing approaching the main path to the Lord's manor, and they saw nothing as a cloud covered the dim moonlight and the Kindred made their move. A head was cracked against the stone wall, almost at the same time as a heavy punch knocked out a second guard. A spearman raised his weapon and spun, scanning his surrounding in search of his foe. A short axe flew into his face horizontally, splitting his face in two and silencing his cries. Before the last soldier could flee into the manor, the swift arc of a curved two-handed sword cleanly took away his head.

The Ventrue knight strode towards the manor, followed by a fur-clad barbarian and a stocky beastly man. The trio seemingly blinked into existence, as if the night had just created them. "Good work..."

"Thank you, your lordship..." the Nosferatu extended his perpetual grin "Sure you don't want me to keep us under?"

"Not now..."

The manor doors swung open, and two crossbowmen raised their weapons at the group.

" _STOP!"_ The Ventrue commanded, and was obeyed. The trio walked past them " _Follow us..."_

The manor was dimly lit. Torches hung from the walls every ten paces, but only on few of them did fire rage. The Nosferatu flinched at the flames, but walked ahead with the group regardless. He could feel the two guardsmen's eyes fixed in his grotesque look. He licked his teeth "What's the matter boys? Stunned by my beauty?"

The pair did the sign of the cross. From that point on, their eyes were on the Ventrue. Fear and misunderstanding were evident in their visage. They recognized the trio as intruders, but a mist clouded their minds to the point that resisting the group was never even among the options. They were intruders, but what was one to do but _follow_. Nothing came up, so follow they did. The knight muttered "Pierre, it's your cue..."

The Nosferatu disappeared as if in a cloud of shadows. The courtroom before them was better lit than the hallway, and the shadows of four individuals reached all the way to the approaching group. A Lord dressed for sleep hugged his kneeling wife tightly. Between them stood a wide-eyed young boy, dressed in a camisole. Before them stood what could only be called an aberration.

The finely tailored red velvet coat served only to punctuate the beastly designs of its wearer's flesh. Spikes tore through the coat across the elbows. An elongated forehead ended in long, thin horns that arched backwards reaching until the beast's waist. A snarl approaching the local speech emanated from its mauls. He pointed at the knight accusingly "Do the scions of Hardestadt know the meaning of honor no longer? Have you at last dropped the pretense of chivalry?"

In a stride, the Ventrue swung his sword upwards cleaving the beast's arm at the elbow. The knight spun and brought his curved blade down on the creature's neck. Dark, thick blood poured out from the open throat. The velvet-clad beast crumbled to the ground. Hermann Wallenstein, third earl of Ballenstedt, raised his sword defiantly. "Come, demon! For I will see you dragged into hell before you lay a finger on my wife or child!"

The Ventrue stopped. He gripped his _rhomphaia,_ his Greek broadsword, with both hands and raised the weapon defensively. Behind him the two guards shuffled, unsure of what to do. The fur-clad barbarian held his woodsman's axe at the ready. A low growl escaped his beard-covered lips "Drop the charade, beast..."

The look of innocence on the child's eyes vanished with the swiftness of the lifting of a mask. Amusement and malice graced the young boys features, and a deep sickened laughter completely at odds with his image escaped the small mouth. His arms reached up towards his embracing mother, grasping the side of her face and twisting the woman's neck at an odd angle. A surprised gasp was the last thing escaping her lips as a wet crack marked her passing from this world. Lord Wallenstein cried in horror and slowly backed away from his laughing son.

"I admit to being tired of this pretense, as well... Let me present you with a look with which you'll be more comfortable. It's the least I can do for soon-to-be-dead Kindred..." the child's skin turned pasty green and spikes began to emerge from its spine, all the way up to its brow. Where frail limbs were but a moment before, hulking masses of muscles expanded. The child's delicate features were no more. A wide mouth with sharpened teeth and a long drooping tongue saw strands of caustic vitae drop to the floor. The Tzimisce grew in size, standing well over seven feet tall.

" _Slay this abomination!"_ the Ventrue knight's supernaturally commanding voice echoed across the small hall, and almost immediately the two guards let loose iron bolts into the creature's chest. The knight's sword slashed through the beast's ribcage as it lunged past him. The Tzimisce clawed open one of the soldiers. Talons ripped apart the man's chest, blood and broken bones flying through the hall's interior. The second guard stared in wide-eyed terror as the beast cupped his head in his hands and crushed it as one would an egg.

The bearded man rushed towards the monster, bringing his axe down behind its left knee. The Tzimisce shrieked in pain and elbowed the barbarian in the chest. The Gangrel was hurled back across the room, crashing against the corpse of the lady of the manor. Lord Wallenstein was frozen in place, and a look of shock covered his tear-stricken features. With a war cry, the barbarian jump across the room, his speed matching that of a hunting wolf. He brought his axe down across the creature's spine. It howled and frantically tried to grasp the barbarian. With swing of its talons it howled, every attack meeting nothing but air. The Gangrel's supernatural speed turned him into a blur. For all its strength, the Tzimisce monster could not touch him, and every blow of the barbarian's axe found its target with a wet crunch. The creature shifted and turned, and it could attack no longer. Its main concern was trying to avoid the iron bite of the Gangrel's weapon.

While the beast was distracted, the Ventrue rushed towards its flank and plunged his blade into the creature's neck. It's howling shriek was replaced by a gargling cry. With a sweeping blow of this right arm it threw both warriors back. A mere moment's fight with the two Kindred had convinced him that tonight was not a night to be won, but one to be survived. It stumbled past the two Kindred, grabbing Lord Wallenstein like a doll and hurling him at the already approaching Gangrel. He darted through a dark corridor, its wet gargle echoing through the shadows.

The two Kindred did not give pursuit, and the Ventrue paused to observe his surroundings. Blood splatters covered the floor and the large expensive carpet at the center of the room. The bottom half of a militiaman laid on it, as well as a pair of mangled arms. The head was nowhere to be found. The second militiaman laid near him, the only remaining part of his head his hanging jaw. Lord Wallenstein sobbed uncontrollably over the twisted corpse of his wife. The knight strode towards him and without a second thought slid the nobleman's throat open with his sword.

The Gangrel walked to stand beside him, both Kindred observing the dying earl "Are you sure he had to go?"

"How long did we know the Tzimisce to be here?"

The Gangrel rubbed his beard "Four years, at least..."

"The man kissed the forehead of a monster every night..." The Ventrue said, his voice without a hint of emotion "It is possible he watched it suckle on his wife's breasts. He feared the monster's ghoul and deeply loved the monster. What life remained for him?"

"You could have altered his mind..."

"The emptiness would have remained..." He gazed into the Gangrel's eyes "His life would endure, but a missing space would always be there. You know the emptiness of which I speak."

It took a lot to make a Gangrel uncomfortable, but that seemed to have done it "It's up to her now..."

"Can she do it?"

"The pup will handle the beast..." He grunted "Caine knows she enjoys a good hunting..."

* * *

The beast stumbled and fell out of the abandoned shed. The Ventrue were not supposed to be aware of his presence in northern Germany. The town was small enough to not have a Kindred population, the earl insignificant enough to not merit the blue bloods' embrace. No vampire court ruled it. From here, he would be able to sire children and slowly infiltrate the surrounding major towns under another clan's guise. For a master of Vicissitude, the job of creating a Nosferatu proxy was simple. Yet somehow they knew...

The form of Zulo, his clan's old power, slowly crumbled away, revealing a completely hairless, bleeding man. He had little blood left on his body, and the remaining power of his discipline allowed him turn back only to the blandest of forms. A white man, with no distinguishing features. Not enough to draw mortal passions, but enough to secure him safe passage into polish lands. When he finds a Tzimisce haven, he'll gather his remaining resources, and attempt a second incursion. Ballenstedt was no longer an option, but small towns covered the German countryside. Maybe a fishing village would be his next stop. Maybe his expectation of luxury brought too much attention to himself.

An arrow pierced the night sky. The vampire turned as he heard the projectile whistling towards him, and it's impossible to know what caused him to remain still. Perhaps his blood reserves had lowered so much he lacked the strength even to jump away. The projectile hit him on his right shoulder, and the Tzimisce collapsed to the ground. He cursed in a Slavic language and crawled away on his back, instinct and rage taking over the rational mind. A slim form approached him, holding a recurved composite bow, another arrow already notched on the string, held back by the woman's thumb.

"I wanted a hunt, demon..." she said, in a rough German "Get up and run, and I will chase you down and my arrows will pierce your fleeing carcass..."

The vampire jumped from the ground and rushed at her. It could no longer be considered conscious. The Beast had dominated the demonic man and completely taken over his mind. The Mongol's second arrow buried itself in the demon's open mouth, piercing his throat until an iron point burst out of the back of its neck. It did not slow its impetus.

The young woman dropped her bow and unsheathed her scimitar, dodging the vampire's original tackle and bringing her sword down on his bare leg. The blade cut cleanly through, and infernal screams filled the night. The Tzimisce shifted on the ground trying to find a way to stand and resume his attack. The slim vampire straddled the vampire and brought her scimitar down vertically on his neck. A wet squish marked the blade's carving path. The vampire's head rolled away, and his body twisted and squirmed uncontrollably. A final spasm of life escaped the Tzimisce and almost immediately his body began to decay. The demon was dead.

The young woman grunted and snarled as she wrested her blade free of the cold hard ground. Behind her, hidden in a supernaturally large shadow, a Nosferatu observed.

* * *

Two nights had passed since the incident at the Ballenstedt manor. The commotion of the people had been as expected. Horror, disbelief and a preternatural propulsion to blame Satan. ' _Wrong damned..._ ' thought the Ventrue, Gunnar Gudmundsson, _strategoi_ of northern Europe. The new princes had arrived that morning, the mortal one a bearded man with three young children, the true one a Toreador artist and her entourage, vassals of the Magdeburg court. The discovery of the Tzimisce in such a small town had been a warning. The Ventrue could no longer ignore the countryside, lest they face a foreign uprising but a few miles away from their courts. It was important to remember, not every Kindred feared the darkness of the woods. Something would need to be done, and it enraged him to find himself ordered elsewhere.

He crumpled the letter he had just opened, and cast it into the fireplace in the manor's kitchen.

"That bad, eh..." Mikko, his Gangrel lictor looked up from his mug, blood staining his platinum blond beard "They're not even giving us time to put our feet up or hunt some maidens, captain?"

The Ventrue scoffed "The last time you hunted for maidens I had to defend you before my sire..."

He smiled, his pronounced canines making what should be a pleasing look almost terrifying "But the pup turned out alright!"

"You snuck into a Mongol camp and stole the bride-to-be of a young nobleman..."

"Well..."

"You led them on a chase that ended on the town we were staying..."

"Yes..."

"The Mongols besieged the town because of you..."

"We beat them..." The blond man shrugged "And she's become your lictor..."

"How Sarnia hasn't killed you is beyond me..."

"She really likes you... And Pierre..." He laughed "Wouldn't ever say that out loud, though..."

Gunnar did not smile, his face still showed his worries "We're to travel to Vienna..."

The smile disappeared from the Finnish barbarian, replaced by a visage of clear revulsion. " _Usurpers..."_

"We are to work out a deal in order to allow them to work under Ventrue protection in western Europe."

"Your clan is mad!" he spat "They took the blood of Saulot! If you think the Tzimisce are thieving, backstabbing bastards, imagine the one clan that conned them! And if that isn't enough the thought of the experiments they've conducted on my blood-brothers makes me-"

"Know your place, Varangian!" Gunnar yelled and the Gangrel stiffened, his back straight. Years of unlife had not yet removed the habit of obeying his captain, and deep down he wondered it that compulsion would ever wane "I'm aware of all your objections... But the ephors have made their will known."

"Captain..." the Gangrel seemed to struggle with the words, yet his tone was resolute "I cannot follow you into this... "

Gunnar's posture shifted slightly "Are you certain of this?"

Mikko looked disgusted "You would have me walk into the enemy's hands, in order to invite them into our homes... My kin die each day and are turned into abominations. You would give them safe haven and in the same move throw us to the wolves!"

"For starters, friend..." Gunnar's tone was cold as ice. No longer was he the Norwegian knight. Before the barbarian stood a scion of Ventrue "You have placed your trust in me since we first met, inside the living quarters of the Emperor's guard. In Miklagard we formed a bond of trust. That our sires came to be of different blood could not change that. I give you my word that when the Tremere enter our fold it will be on our terms."

" You cannot-"

He raised a hand, silencing the Gangrel "Second, your brethren now hunt beside the Tzimisce demons... I object to the Tremere practices, but nothing they have done has ever come close to the depravities of the eastern demons. We _know_ this... We have both _seen_ this. We have just fought a beast that disguised itself as a child and fooled a mortal couple for years. We have burned their cathedrals of flesh, slain their walking abominations. Your clan roosts with the Tzimisce, don't question the alliances of the Ventrue."

Mikko was silent. He rose, matching the height of the nobleman "I will not fight against you, Captain... I think I'm physically incapable of doing so. But I will not engage with usurpers. I will not lend my ears to their wretched chants."

The Ventrue nodded "I understand your motives, and I do not expect you to discard your stubborn pride. You had that before you turned..."

The Gangrel smiled "Do I meet my final death tonight?"

"No..." Gunnar fetched a goblet and set it on the table. He removed a small Danish axe that hung from his belt, using the sharp edge to slit his left wrist. His vitae flowed into the cup, and the Ventrue began his decree "Mikko, childe of Arnulf of clan Gangrel... From this point on your duty as lictor is ended. Your bonds and oaths to me are rescinded, you are released to spend the rest of your nights as you see fit, with the blessings of Ventrue, under the watchful eyes of Caine. All your other oaths are replaced with one..." He handed the goblet to the Finn "You will never get on my way. If our paths cross again, our relationship will be one of friendship, one of partnership, one of indifference, but if animosity comes between us, may you burn in the sun's light."

The Gangrel raised the goblet and took three gulps. He threw the goblet and the remaining vitae into the fire. He extended his hand to Gunnar "We depart as friends..."

The Ventrue shook the man's hand "We met as brothers, we depart as brothers... Tell Sarnia I am sorry."

The Gangrel nodded, and went back to his chambers. In the Ventrue's private quarter, a young Swedish noblewoman awaited him. Tonight he would feed. Tomorrow he would move, towards Vienna and the court of Lotharius, the Tremere. He had dealt with the usurpers before, but never in their domain. The following day represented the unknown, with endless dangers and opportunities.

The Ventrue thrived in both.

* * *

"I'll miss that grumpy sod..." Pierre sulked atop his horse. Covered head to toe in a monk's vestments, his clan's distinctive visage was all but concealed. The two vampires rode south along dirt roads, beaten paths familiar only to those who knew the woods hid more than bandits. Behind them two squires rode alongside a prepared stagecoach, for when the sun rose. "He was always up for a good hunt. This leaves us short on numbers..."

"I've contacted Magdeburg... We'll meet someone in Salzburg, then head out to Vienna the following night."

"Sire!" One of the squires shouted, but Gunnar had already heard it. He turned his horse at the approaching rider, who galloped towards them at speed.

In the deep darkness of the night, his eyes recognized the approaching figure well before the others "Stand down, the rider's friendly..."

Pierre laughed "Now that's a word I've never used to describe her..."

Sarnia approached them, a wine-colored cloak covering the leather clothing of her people. The Mongol woman appeared to be on the edge of frenzy "You had left me behind..."

Gunnar remained impassive "Your sire is no longer in my service. You belong with your sire..."

"I belong to no one!"

The Nosferatu scoffed. Among his mumbled words, the Ventrue could hear ' _friendly', 'chirpy'_ and _'charming'._ Gunnar ignored him "Neonates accompany their sires... You will not defy that hierarchy, and least of all remain in my company while doing so."

She cursed in a language neither of them were familiar with "The old man said it was my choice... I have made my choice."

The Ventrue raised an eyebrow "The man who snuck into a Mongol war camp to take you away allowed you to leave at your whim?"

"I spent sixty two years next to him, next to the two of you as well... I am not neonate, I am not a child. My destiny is my own."

"Then why come with us?" Pierre asked. The Gangrel shifted atop her horse. She seemed to struggle with the answer, either from unease of sharing personal reasons or from uncertainty of her own motives "If you are free, be free! You choose freedom and follow in the same footsteps as before."

She looked at Gunnar , her eyes meeting his "Your sire cursed you with a purpose. You became what you are and from the start you had a road to follow, possibilities were opened for you... My sire cursed me at a whim. There are few roads for a woman to follow on the steppes, for a cursed one there are none. And in Europe, what path can I follow? Where would I be looked at as anything other than a freak?"

The Ventrue remained stoic, but he understood her perfectly. The looks of fear, of amusement, of disgust he received when first entering the golden city remained a scar on his dead heart. And these were Greeks, Turks, Italians and Slavs watching a Norse man as an owner observes his livestock. Her hardships would be far greater. "The next few months won't be spent on the road, on the battlefield... We'll be going to so-called civilized society. We'll talk, not fight. We'll be on our guards constantly, but you will find it all extremely tedious, I assure you."

She nodded, resolute. "I know. I accept it."

He turned his horse and was followed by the pair "Then let's go... Austria awaits us."

* * *

 **This isn't the first fanfic I've ever written, but it's the first chapter I've published of this. Not sure how often I can update.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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